


Ficlet Collection

by Syllfael



Category: Halloween Movies - All Media Types, House of Wax (2005), Laid to Rest (2009), My Bloody Valentine (2009), The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (Movies)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:46:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 13,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26961610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Syllfael/pseuds/Syllfael
Summary: From Tumblr prompts. Slasher x reader (gender/body neutral unless stated otherwise). SFW unless marked otherwise.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 50





	1. "Did you just hiss at me?" feat. Bo Sinclair

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come see me on Tumblr: stay-outta-my-blood-circle

Bo stops abruptly, fork still hanging in the air.

"'Scuse me? Did you just _hiss_ at me?" he asks, tone incredulous and eyebrows shooting skyward.

You don't back down an inch. Your eyes are locked with his as you hold your own fork suspended above your plate, as if ready to duel with his.

"I said _I_ was ordering dessert. You said you didn't want any."

"Yeah, because I was plannin' to take a few bites of yours," he drawls, slow and measured, like he's trying to intimidate you. You would roll your eyes if they weren't currently participating in an intense staring contest.

"Well, poor planning then," you start, leaning forward aggressively across the small table, "because I don't share cake."

He smiles, but not pleasantly - not an amused smile, nor a loving one - this is a predator baring its teeth. Still staring you down, he mimics your movement, leaning forward as well.

"That so?" He asks, voice dropping a dangerous octave. "Well I reckon you better start."

“Oh?” You query, feigning innocence, and then shift your delicate hold on the fork into a full-fist configuration, all the better for stabbing downward. “You gonna make me?”

The smile flickers, losing some of its carnivorous edge in favor of genuine amusement – but only for a second, before he catches himself. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, scraping over a sharp canine tooth in the process.

“Bet I can figure out a way to persuade you,” he mutters, voice rough. You smile.

Yeah, you bet he can too.


	2. "Nobody's seen you in days." feat. Thomas Hewitt

You hear the screen door swing open abruptly and then slam shut. You drop the towel you were folding and quickly move across the room to peer anxiously around the corner toward the front door, just as you’ve been doing for days anytime someone came in.

This time, rather than the usual slow creep of disappointment, your heart sears with alarm.

He’s home, finally, but he’s covered in blood, clutching a gash in his arm, and - worse, he still looks angry. Despite the mixture of anxiety, fear, and indignation clouding your mind, you run to him.

“Thomas! Where have you been?” You begin, voice slightly raised but trying hard to keep your tone even. “Nobody’s seen you in days – we’ve been worried sick, Luda Mae is beside herself…”

He ignores you entirely, making his way to the sink as if you weren’t buzzing around him like a gnat. He rolls up his sleeve and starts cleaning the wound. You reach out to help him, and he slaps your hand away.

The anger you’ve been reigning in explodes to the surface.

“No, you don’t get to do that,” you bite out, sharp and caustic, “you don’t get to storm out and leave us – _me_ – wondering where you are, if you’re okay, and then act like this when you get back – I understand if you needed to cool off, but I expected you to come back ready to talk –“

His movements stop and his head slowly lifts, turning to pierce you with a furious glare. Your words die in your throat for a moment, but ultimately, you’re too worked up to be intimidated.

“I _know_ you don’t talk, but dammit, Thomas, you can _communicate_. We’re supposed to be a team – I know you didn’t like what I said to you, but this relationship won’t work if this is how you handle disagreements –“

The glare drops away, wide eyes taking its place as he turns completely to face you, taking a step back as he does. You realize your mistake – poor choice of words, got too angry and didn’t _think_ – and scramble to correct yourself.

“Wait, that’s not what I – “

He turns and bolts, retreating to the basement, holding a dish towel to his still-bleeding arm.

You bury your face in your hands, feeling the prickle of frustrated tears beginning to gather. You were capable of handling a simple argument, but things had spiraled out of control so quickly, and now you’d hurt him, _scared_ him - he thought you were going to _leave_ him, and you didn't know how to reassure him when he was refusing to talk to you.


	3. "How are you more badass than me?" feat. Bo Sinclair

He arrives right after you’ve finished, stopping at the trunk of the vehicle while you wipe grease from your hands.

“An’ just what d’you think you’re doin’?” He asks gruffly, crossing his arms, his heavy drawl a sure sign that he’s not happy.

“Fixing the car. Why?” You respond, feigning innocence. You knew he’d be upset – honestly, you’d been hoping to get in and get out without him noticing.

“Said I’d do that,” he grumbles, gesturing to the raised hood with his chin. He had a toothpick in his mouth, and the way he was toying with it reminded you of the swish of an angry cat’s tail.

“I know how to replace a heater hose, Bo. It’s not a big deal. I thought you were busy today anyway,” you say, trying to deflect his attention, “with those tourists?”

He takes the bait, looking away, shifting in annoyance and letting his arms fall to his sides.

“Well, yeah, but speakin’ of that – we’re missin’ one. I’m out here lookin’ for him. Thought you were at home, where you _should_ be, instead of out here in danger,” he tsks, gaze pinning you again.

“Oh come on, I’m fine. No sign of the guy, huh?” You ask, trying not to smirk.

“Not yet, I don’t…” he trails off when he notices your expression, becoming instantly suspicious. “Hey. You better not be messin’ with me –“

You lower the hood with a bang, clearing his view to see the bound and unconscious individual lying beyond it. The toothpick drops from his mouth. He starts stammering; you can tell he’s warring with fear for your safety vs. pride in your accomplishments.

“Took care of _that_ for you, too,” you say smugly, walking up to plant a smooch on his cheek before continuing past him toward the house.

“Wh – Th – Hey! How the hell’re you more badass than _I_ am?!” He calls after you, indignantly. You turn back, grinning, and wave.


	4. "Stop being grumpy, it's lame." feat. Thomas Hewitt

You can tell he's in a bad mood today. You're not sure why; nothing had happened that you knew about. In any case, you were on your way downstairs armed with only a chocolate bar and a sunny disposition.

Thomas is brooding at his workbench when you arrive. He looks up but doesn't acknowledge you any other way - well, that wasn't a "go away," so you approach through the gloom and hop up onto the edge of the table. He absentmindedly lays one gigantic hand on your knee, resting his chin on the other one, still not looking at you.

"Brought you something," you tease, singsong, dangling the chocolate bar in front of his face. He looks up, follows it with his eyes for a few moments, then grabs it, tugging it out of your hands and setting it down in front of him. It was his favorite kind, and he didn't get them often. You tried to stash them up as much as possible, specifically for this reason.

He opens the wrapper with slow deliberation and breaks the bar in half, keeping one and handing you the other. He always tries to share anything he has with you. You take it, smiling, but break your piece in half again and hand him back the quarter.

"Thanks, but I only need a little," you say warmly, popping the candy in your mouth before twisting around and pushing his equipment further down the table so that you can lay down in its place, legs still danging over the side. You reach up and lightly poke his cheek (mask) while he chews. "Stop being grumpy, it's lame."

He shoots you an annoyed glance, but his eyelids start to flutter closed when you switch to running fingers through his hair. He finishes the chocolate and lowers his head to rest on your stomach. You continue your ministrations, smiling to yourself. You always win this game.


	5. "I'm telling you, I'm haunted." feat. Michael Myers

Items kept falling from their shelves when you walked past. It was odd, but you didn’t think much of it. But then you would set something down and turn around for a _second_ , only to find it gone when you turned back. You wanted to believe you were just being scatterbrained, but then you started noticing other things with a growing sense of unease: odd creaking in the empty sections of the house, cabinets and drawers left open, doors opening and closing on their own.

By the time Michael finally made an appearance (breezing into the house without knocking _or_ closing the door behind him, grabbing _your_ box of ice cream sandwiches, and sitting down on the couch to methodically consume every last one of them), you were frantic. You follow him into the living room, hovering just out of reach as he stoically devours one sandwich after another.

“Uh… hey. Something weird is happening,” you start, hesitantly – you doubt he’ll believe you, and even if he does, what’s he going to do about it? But you’re a nervous wreck and you _have_ to say something. Besides, he _is_ your (for lack of a more accurate term) boyfriend, so isn’t it his job to protect you?

That small amount of hope begins to fizzle when his head swivels passively in your direction; he’s not currently wearing his mask, but he might as well be for all the emotion he’s showing. Despite the cold reception, you press on, cutting to the chase.

“I’m telling you, I’m haunted,” you say, voice low and tremulous in an urgent near-whisper.

Michael stares. Then, slowly, he gets up and approaches you, still staring. His eyes bore into yours as he reaches out… and places approximately one-eighth of an ice cream sandwich in your bare hand before he walks swiftly around you and out of the room, taking the remainder of the box of treats with him.

You lower your eyes to the quickly-melting fragment of ice cream in your hand, your terror entirely forgotten in the absurdity of the moment.

“Well, I’m disappointed, but I can’t say I’m surprised,” you mutter to yourself. Was this supposed to make you feel better, or was he just handing you his trash like a child? You doubt you’ll ever know.

You throw the remains of the dessert in the trash and rinse your hands in the sink before storming off upstairs, too irritated to be frightened and planning to try and relax in your bedroom.

You see it when you hit the landing - your “ghost.”

Michael freezes in place, arm outstretched to a figurine on a high shelf, which was now teetering right on the edge – poised to fall at the slightest vibration.

Through the haze of red that swarms your vision, you see Michael begin to retreat, as if distance will save him.

Come hell or high water, you were about to kick the boogeyman’s ass.


	6. "Are we on a date right now?" feat. Thomas Hewitt

November had finally arrived, bringing with it the first truly cool days since early spring. So, here you were, wading through underbrush with a blanket under one arm and a picnic basket in the other. There hadn’t been much going on lately, so Luda Mae had put together a nice little meal and encouraged you to spend some time out in the nice weather.

Beside you, having a much less difficult time stomping through the tall grass and brambles, was Thomas, whom Luda Mae had also instructed to get some fresh air. He’s seemed anxious when his mother had suggested he accompany you, but pleased when you seconded the idea.

It had sounded fun in theory, but it was proving to be mostly frustrating in practice. You’re currently huffing and cursing and hating how easily you could be talked into things when food was involved. You stop suddenly, eying the remaining distance with a critical eye and a growling stomach. Thomas comes to a startled stop next to you.

“I know we planned on making it to the lake, but…” you sigh, shrugging helplessly, “I’m not sure I’ll make it that far. Got any ideas?”

The look he gives you is calculating. Then, he approaches and holds his arms out, forklift style. Your eyes widen.

“… Are you sure? It’s okay with me, but aren’t I too heavy to carry all that way?”

He waves away your question, takes the basket from you, and then deftly scoops you up, holding you bridal style. You clutch the blanket to your chest with one arm, looping the other one around his neck.

He takes a moment to steady himself and then sets off at a much faster pace than before. You realize he’d been slowing himself down purposefully to match your sloth-like pace. You’re amazed that he doesn’t seem to have any trouble carrying you, even at full stride.

You lay your head against his shoulder as your mind drifts from thought to thought, mostly to do with the man carrying you. Suddenly, it occurs to you that Luda Mae might have an ulterior motive in this outing.

“Hey, do you think… are we on a date right now?” you ponder aloud - almost immediately regretting it as Thomas’ grip falters and you nearly fall to the ground from _far_ too high up.


	7. Devil-in-disguise feat. Jesse Cromeans

**Ha! Nice one, right?**

The words pop up in the text box on the bottom of the screen as the man in the center crumples to the ground. Jesse rewinds the clip so you can see the kill again - slows it down, even. _Show-off_. You smile, affectionate if a little wry, watching the knife arc through the air, spin, and lodge in the victim's eye. He leaves the man to convulse and die in slow motion. You remember this kill, just like you remember all the others. 

His soul went down smooth and screaming, just like all the others.

Chromeskull was your main source of sustenance, and he fed you _well_. You'd been lucky to encounter him.

He skips the video forward a bit, gloved hands hovering over the keyboard. 

**Hold on, wait until you see this one.**

You laugh, shifting your gaze to the man sitting beside you. You've witnessed every new addition to his body count since you joined him, but you don't have the heart to stop him when he's this excited. So _endearing_. You decide to stoke his ego a bit; you lean over to plant a smooch on his mask, right about where the corner of his mouth would be. 

"I'm always impressed by your skill, not to mention _style_. There's nothing better than a man who knows what he's doing," you purr. He huffs a few times in succession - his version of a chuckle.

**Gotta keep my little devil satisfied, right?**

He types out, then lifts a hand from the keyboard to grip the back of your neck with just enough force to keep you from pulling your face away from his. In response, a slow predatory grin starts to creep across your expression.

The deal was money and power in exchange for the souls of his victims - little did he know it was _his_ soul you truly craved. For you, the most delicious morsels were the ones stained with blood.

He'd been unlucky to encounter you.


	8. Possessive feat. Jesse Cromeans

🔊 "Song #3" by Stone Sour

You have exited your vehicle and started walking when you pass a dark alleyway and are yanked abruptly into it. Luckily, this has happened so often at various times and locations that you take it in stride. You have a pretty good guess at who's got you, and the feel of the gloves against your arms all but confirms it. 

Your captor pulls you both backwards against a wall and then wraps both arms around your middle. A screen is raised to your eye line.

**Hey babe. What's up?**

"Just headed into work. As usual," you sigh and lean back against him. Jesse takes your weight happily, squeezing you against him as close as possible with the arm not holding the phone.

**Why?**

You smile, knowing where this is going. He must be feeling needy today.

"Gotta make money somehow," you shrug, playing along.

**I've got enough for both of us. Take the day off.**

You laugh. He's so predictable. You spin in his arms and let him pull you flush against him as you tilt your face up to plant a kiss on his jaw. He huffs appreciatively, and one hand runs slowly up your spine to cup the back of your head, holding you in place. He tilts his head to give you more room to work - which you quickly make use of, peppering kisses of various intensity along his throat.

"You're going to get me fired," you mumble happily against his skin, melting into him. The arm encircling your back shifts as he brings the phone up.

**Who cares? You're mine. Nobody else has a claim on your time.**

You laugh again, kiss him again, then _bite_ , and you hear a sharp hiss from behind the mask. He suddenly tightens his grip on you, spins, and presses you against the wall, one arm on either side of your head - but stays still after that. His intentions are clear, and you resume your ministrations on his neck, yanking his collar out of the way so you can dip down his shoulder and towards his collarbone. You undo a few buttons on his shirt and head lower still, wondering if you can make it all the way to his tattoo before he explodes.

His breathing is even and slow-paced, but in a calm-before-the-storm kind of way. Normally you'd be more careful about riling him up in a public (or semi-public) place, but he was such a softy when he got like this - when all he wanted was your attention, as if to reassure himself that you were with him because you _wanted_ to be, that you were, in fact, _his_ \- and you enjoyed every minute of it. Despite your warm-up here, he would likely desire nothing more than a movie and a snugglefest when you got home. (Until later, at least.)

"Fine, whisk me away then," you concede, breathlessly, straightening up. He immediately pulls you beside him and wraps an arm around your shoulders, leading you toward the car.

You pull out your phone to let work know you aren't coming in. You go ahead and tell them you're sick and won't be back in until Monday - you don't expect to be allowed out of his reach until at _least_ the weekend.


	9. "Do you even still love me?" feat. Harry Warden

It was the late nights that bothered you most. There were other changes, other signs of the growing distance between you - his sour attitude, silence, general lack of interest - but his long absences were the worst. Those nights, if you asked where he’d been all evening, why he hadn’t come home until you were already in bed, he’d say he was at the local bar with the other miners.

It was plausible enough (and he _did_ reek of alcohol upon returning), and you wouldn’t even be questioning it if it was the only odd thing. As it stands, you’ve been driving yourself crazy wondering if he’s been cheating on you. You didn’t want to entertain the idea - you didn’t think he would do that, and while his behavior had been different, it didn’t necessarily line up with infidelity. You’d even gone through his phone once (a huge invasion of privacy, you know, but your anxiety had spiked so high that day, you thought you’d implode if you didn’t check) and didn’t find anything suspicious.

Still - you’d had enough. The next night he stayed out late, you were waiting up in the living room, drink of your own in hand, when he returned.

“Hey,” Harry mumbles, looking slightly intoxicated and caught off guard, “didn’t reckon you’d still be up.”

“Were you hoping to avoid me?” you ask quietly. You’re not sure if you’re more angry, sad, or nervous about this confrontation; all you know is you can’t keep going on like this.

“Tch. ‘Course not,” he waves away your question and heads to the cabinet, grabbing a glass. “Just surprised is all. Somethin’ wrong?”

He fills his glass with water from the tap. He takes a few drinks. You’re silent. He finally turns around and leans back against the sink, crossing his arms. “Look, darlin’ -” he breaks off abruptly when he sees your face.

You hadn’t wanted to cry. You thought you’d be able to make it through this with dry eyes, but now that the moment had actually arrived, the ending felt so sure, so close, so _terrible_.

_Get it over with. Rip off the band-aid._

“Do you even still love me?” You fight to get the words out, to keep the tremor out of your voice. You mostly succeed - tears are streaming down your face but your gaze is steady and your voice only slightly less so.

He freezes. You’re not surprised - this is how he gets with sudden displays of emotion. You wait - soon he’s shifting his weight, clenching his fists over his sleeves, uncrossing his arms. He brings one hand up to rub his jaw, which you know is a delay tactic. Finally, he thaws with a long exhale.

“ _Shit_ , sweetheart - ”

Panic rises suddenly. Maybe you can’t do this after all. So you bolt, run to the bedroom and slam the door behind you, needing to put some distance between you and the word you can’t bear to hear.


	10. Seven Sentence prompts (multi-slasher)

##  1\. Thomas

It wasn't the _worst_ bird house you'd ever seen - though it was certainly close. Thomas could sew like nobody's business, but apparently woodworking was his kryptonite. He seems aware of it too, staring down at the shamble with a glare and a creased brow, like it had deliberately disappointed him. When he looks up to meet your gaze, he falters. Embarrassed?

"Let's keep this on the table; it'll make me happy every time I see it."

His eyes go soft.

## 2\. Chromeskull - Western AU (parts 1 & 2)

The saloon goes dead silent when he enters, but he would have had your undivided attention either way. Between his height, his skull mask (looks like real bone, too, which is... disconcerting), and the two giant knives on his belt, he drew the eye.

Paying no mind to his surroundings, he walks across the room and takes a seat at the bar - right next to you. Normally you would be frightened (and you are, a little), but as luck would have it, this is the man you came here to see.

The bartender starts pouring him a drink right away; he must have a standing order.

"Excuse me, sir," you begin, steeling your nerve - then he turns his head slowly toward you, and you falter. Maybe you could make do with a slightly less... _qualified_ bodyguard, after all.

He'd taken the job, against all odds, and somewhat against your better judgment - he'd _insisted_ , even, which was more than a little disconcerting. Your travels up until now had been spent (at least for your part) in awkward, mildly terrified silence. Still, you were glad to have him - especially when you end up captured by a group of outlaws.

He announces his arrival with a decapitated head crashing through the window. As the outlaws snap to attention, the next thing through the window is a knife - it lodges in the eye socket of the man holding you, and as he drops to the ground you begin working on the ropes around your arms.

Two men run out, armed; they don't return, and instead Jesse appears in the doorway, blood on his hands.

His body language, and the way he looks at you, you can almost hear it - **_miss me?_**

## 3\. Asa

The man you'd spoken to in the coffee shop had left his wallet behind accidentally, and you weren't sure how to feel about it. On one hand, you would now have to go out of your way to return it; on the other hand, you really didn't mind the opportunity to see him again.

You feel weird about going to the address on his driver's license, but luckily there was also a university ID - you end up in the main office for directions, and then in the science building. His door is open when you arrive, so you knock quietly and enter.

"Hi, sorry to bother you - we spoke at the coffee shop this morning, and I noticed you forgot your wallet," you smile, holding it out to him. His gaze has an odd stillness to it as he takes the item from you with fluid precision - quick, but careful not to brush your fingers with his.

"Thank you, I appreciate you coming all this way... perhaps, if you'd like to meet me there later - I can treat you to a drink, in gratitude?"

## 4\. Thomas

When he finishes his chores and comes upstairs, you call him from the bathroom. He comes down the hall, opens the door, and finds you - smiling brightly, holding a rubber duck, and standing next to a full, bubbly bathtub.

"Figured you'd be tired, so I made up a bath for you - hop in, I'll treat you to a little spa day," you grin, gesturing to the water. He looks surprised but pleased, and he begins to undress. 

When he finally sinks into the water, a lot of it displaces, sloshes over the side, and floods the floor.

"Uh, oops. I guess I filled it too high," you laugh as he looks over the mess and sighs.

## 5\. Chromeskull

Your phone buzzes; you dig it out from under your discarded clothing to check it.

**Oooh, those are nice, I approve.**

You gasp, and spin around - he's watching you over the door of the changing room (it occurs to you once again that it should be illegal to be so tall).

"Jesse! You're going to get in trouble if someone sees you," you chide, smiling, clad only in the lingerie you were trying on.

Hmm, guess I'll have to come hide in there then.

You're sure he's smirking behind his mask, but you unlock the door for him anyway.

## 6\. Vincent

The strands slide through your fingers like silk as you comb. His head is tilted back into your touch, and by the time you start braiding, he's so relaxed he's almost asleep. 

Once you're finished weaving, you give the plait a couple little tugs; he falls backward until you're able to cup the back of his head in your hands and lower your lips to his. Your fingers loosen the braid as the kiss continues, and finally you help him sit up again so you can twist the long strands into a messy bun at the nape of his neck and tie it that way. 

"Done?" He asks quietly, still sleepy from the soothing attention.

"No," you reply, smiling fondly, "never."

## 7\. Thomas

He'd been... confused, when you asked him to undress (mask included) and lay down, but he likes to make you happy and has no reason not to trust you, so he followed your instructions.

Now that you're on top of him, legs spread wide to straddle his hips, he's glad he did.

You thread your fingers together, bringing his huge hand up to your mouth to kiss each finger, each knuckle, the back of his hand, his wrist - as you trail kisses down his arm, he lovingly cups the back of your head. You make it to his shoulder, then hop up to his face, gently pressing your lips to his forehead, his eyelids, both cheeks, and along his jaw, until he lifts his head from the pillow to capture your mouth with his.

You kiss him fervently for a minute, but refuse to be distracted from your mission for long; as you pull back and grab his other hand to repeat your process, his expression turns questioning.

"Hope you've got nowhere to be for a while," you wink, grinning slyly, "because I'm planning to cover every inch of you in kisses, and you have quite a few inches."

He blushes, looking up at you in a mixture of awe, disbelief, and affection.

## 8\. Thomas

He's nodding off on the couch again. You leave everyone else at the dinner table and make your way over quietly before slowly settling yourself into his lap. He stirs, opens one eye to look at you, and then uncrosses his arms so he can wrap them around you instead. 

You lean back with him, pressed against his chest, nuzzling into his neck. You feel him rumble in contentment, like a purr, and you tilt your head to plant a soft kiss on his jaw. You start running your fingers through his hair soothingly, and his head droops even more.

When the rest of the family enters the living room, you shush them - unnecessarily, since Thomas is snoring to wake the dead anyway.

## 9\. Michael (RZ)

When you enter the living room, holding your keys and ready to leave, you find Michael standing by the door with his shoes on. He watches through a curtain of his own hair as you walk past him and reach for the doorknob - and his hand closes like a vice around your wrist.

"Hey, what -" you stutter, mildly alarmed, "what, you wanna go?"

He nods, and pushes past you out the door.

At the car, you encounter a problem - he opens the door to your mini cooper and tries three different ways to get in before realizing it's simply impossible to squeeze his enormous frame into the tiny space.

"Uh..." you trail off, trying very hard not to laugh as he stares you down over the hood of the car.

Looks like you're going to be trading this one in for something bigger.

## 10\. Vincent

Lying face-down on the table he uses to prepare bodies for their wax-coating should make you more uncomfortable - but his hands are so warm and firm against your sore muscles, you can't help but relax.

He's usually so gentle - you often forget just how large and strong his hands are. Turns out they're perfect for massaging all the knots out of your back and shoulders. You groan, and his touch suddenly jumps away from you.

"You didn't hurt me - the opposite, actually - please don't stop," you sigh.

His hands return, smoothing over your skin, and you think you might be falling asleep.

## 11\. Thomas

By the time you've washed and combed his hair, Thomas is drowsy from the attention (you're pretty sure he briefly fell asleep in the bath). You're not done yet, however - you had an idea while you were putting the conditioner in. You grab the curl enhancer and start massaging it through his locks as he struggles to stay awake.

He ends up taking a nap while his hair dries. You stay up to work on a few things, but eventually he looks too inviting to ignore, so you go snuggle up to him for a short nap of your own. 

When you wake up, his face is close to yours and he's staring at you; that's not really unusual, so when your eyes widen in surprise, it's for a different reason. His hair is _gorgeous_ \- soft, defined curls resting lightly against his face - and now you're the one staring.

## 12\. Jason

You're so, so very sleepy - it's warm by the fire, curled up in your armchair, while a movie plays in the background. But you're not cozy _enough_ , and Jason is lying on the couch looking like he'd make a great pillow.

You summon all the remaining strength in your body and rise from your chair, dragging your exhausted frame over to the couch. He raises his head to look at you, questioning - and then you just plop down on top of him. He gathers you up (you think you feel him chuckling), making sure you're totally comfortable and safe.

You nuzzle into his chest as he throws a blanket over you and tucks you in against him. You finally drift off with his fingers trailing soothingly up and down your back.

## 13\. Vincent

"You don't have to, of course; I understand why you don't speak. I just hadn't considered it before is all," you say, laughing at the thought. He watches you, captivated. He loves it when you laugh - about as much as he hates to deny you anything. 

"C'mere," he starts, slowly, flushing scarlet immediately. Your breath hangs suspended in your lungs at the sound - rich, although rough from disuse, and that _drawl_ \- "Darlin'."

You grin wide and tackle him in a hug; he squeezes you in his arms, realizing for the hundredth time that you’re _everything_ to him.

## 14\. Thomas (NSFW)

His breath is even but heavy against the crown of your head as his arms tighten around your middle, keeping your back pressed flush against his chest.

He shifts his hips slightly; you flutter around his length in response. He groans, rough and low.

Your lips quirk in a smug smile, even though he can't see it, and willfully tighten your muscles around him.

He exhales sharply as his hands clench over your hips. You chuckle lightly at his reaction - then suddenly his arms flex, taking your weight, as he easily slides you up along his length and then slams you back down.

You cry out as he does it again, realizing you're going to be sore later; you'd made him impatient, and now he was going to make you regret teasing him.

## 15\. Chromeskull (NSFW)

His grip on the back of your neck tightens as you swirl your tongue. You moan - a low, elongated _mmmmm_ that sends delicious vibrations along his length, and then you pull off of him with a _pop_.

"Yummy," you purr, grinning devilishly up at him. You hear his breath catch. His mask is off, and his eyes are dark with lust as they shift to the keyboard of his phone - he types with one shaky hand.

**Bring that pretty mouth back to daddy** , the screen commands.

You obey gladly.

## 16\. Jason

When Jason walks in, you’re so wrapped up in the blankets that only your face is visible; you shift around until you’re able to punch one arm out of your cocoon and urgently motion for him to come closer.

He hurries over, afraid you may be hurt or sick, and as soon as he’s within reach you grab his arm and yank him down to join you on the floor, quickly throwing your nest of blankets to envelop him as well.

“I’m _freezing_ ,” you hiss, snuggling as close to him as possible without actually climbing into his ribcage. His arms go around you immediately, but he nods toward the crackling fireplace. “Yes, the fire is nice, but _you’re_ nicer,” you hum, voice muffled against his chest.

He squeezes you affectionately. You’re feeling warmer already.

## 17\. Brahms (part 1 & 2)

You'd made the mistake of leaving without telling him - in your defense, he'd been sleeping, and he was such a grump when roused.

You weren't even gone for long, but he's waiting for you, arms crossed, when you return - you sigh, knowing what you're in for.

As soon as you're within reach, his lanky arms unfold and wrap around your waist. They stay that way for the next hour, regardless of your attempts to do your chores.

He also knocks things out of your hands, grabs at your wrists, and drags you bodily away from your tasks.

"Brahms, oh my god," you finally growl, "what do I have to do to make you stop this?"

He spins you around abruptly, and the way he's looking at you makes you instantly regret asking.

You end up in his lap, both your wrists held lightly in front of you by one of his long-fingered hands, as you tilt your head to press a kiss to his jaw.

“Nineteen,” he counts, a little bit breathless, and then as you kiss him again, on the chin, “twenty.”

You’re working your way up to twenty-five, which was the condition he set to earn his forgiveness - equal to the number of minutes you were gone.

_Could be worse_ , you think as you softly kiss the side of his neck, fighting a smile as he melts into you even more.

Suddenly he shifts, wrapping his arms around you again and burying his face in your collarbones.

“Twenty-one is enough for now... can I trade the last four kisses for something else?” He asks sweetly, and based on the feeling of something solid against your thigh, you think you know what “something else” will be.

## 18\. Asa

You hadn't intended to cause any trouble; you'd just had an idea and wanted to see if you could throw something together, assuming you'd observed his work often enough to manage on your own.

You're in the kitchen making popcorn when you hear it: a _thud,_ followed by a startled grunt, from the direction of the living room. Your blood goes cold and you abandon your snack to sprint back to the room you'd just left - he's holding his shoulder, eyes following the wire from his feet, up the wall, to the ceiling. Then he leans down to pick up the brick at his feet before raising his eyes to yours, expression impassive. 

"If you're trying to kill me, you'll have to do slightly better than that," he says, and the way his eyebrow quirks has you sighing in relief - he's not hurt, or mad - you rush across the room to throw your arms around his neck, and he catches you easily.

"Ugh, sorry - and the brick was just a placeholder, I was mostly testing the wiring," you start, before pulling back to wink at him, "but, noted, I'll try harder next time."

You earn an amused smirk just before he tightens his hold on you, squeezing all the air out of your lungs in a _whoosh_.

## 19\. Chromeskull

Jesse had just texted you that he’d be home this evening, after being gone for almost a week; you smile at your screen, thinking excitedly of the little surprise you prepared for exactly this occasion.

By the time he arrives, you're waiting in the bedroom, wearing a brand new set of lingerie - he visibly perks up when he sees you, obviously pleasantly surprised. 

He drops his jacket and bag unceremoniously onto the floor, hands flexing as if he's barely managing not to pounce on you; instead, he pulls out his phone, and you pick yours up preemptively. 

**You look gorgeous, babe, but let me take my time with you later - I'm way too hungry right now.**

He watches you read his message with a growing frown until finally you huff, glare up at him with a scowl, and storm past him out of the room. Puzzled, he looks down at his phone, and then he sighs heavily.

Down the hall, your phone dings again: **Christ, that was supposed to say horny, not hungry - get back here!**

##  **20\. Asa  
**

"What the fuck - you have 'carapace?' No wonder I don't have enough A's over here," you complain, gesturing to the pile of letters in front of you. 

"All is fair in love and bananagrams," Asa quips, monotone, sliding a few letters around before his gaze rises to flicker over your board. "You seem to be doing just fine - I see 'ovoviviparous,' so I suppose it's a good thing I haven't needed a V or an O."

You laugh, then return your attention to your pieces - you really want to beat him this time, but... between the crackling warmth of the fire, his cozy-looking sweater, and the intensely focused expression on his face, you're going soft. 

When you reach across the table to take his hand, you half expect him to shake you off - his eyes remain tethered to his game, but his hand squeezes yours lightly, and then his thumb starts to run back and forth across your knuckles absentmindedly. 

You smile, deciding to abandon your struggle for victory in favor of watching his deft fingers form one word after another.

## 21\. Chromeskull

"Oh, damn, that actually tastes great," you mutter through a mouthful of spaghetti sauce. Jesse turns toward you, holding a wooden spoon and wearing his favorite apron (it says "kiss the cook," followed by a large arrow pointing down; you got it for him as a gag gift and you've regretted it ever since).

_**It's all in the spices,**_ he signs, setting down the spoon, _**told you I could cook when I wanted to.**_

"Well, you were right - good job," you smile warmly at him, and for a moment he just stares - then he crashes over you like a wave, cupping the back of your head as he pulls you in for a deep kiss.

_**Don't stop now - keep telling me how great I am,**_ he signs as he recedes from you, smirking; you roll your eyes, but you can't deny him.

"You're amazing, talented, great at everything you've ever tried - dare I say _perfect_?"

He practically swells with pride under the shower of your praise, and you worry about the effect this will have on his already-substantial ego, but you decide it's well worth it when he yanks you into his arms for a bone-crushing hug.


	11. Christmas special - Thomas Hewitt (gifts)

The winter holidays are a time for family, and few people understand the value of family more than the Hewitts. 

You were sorry it was too warm to snow in Texas - would have been nice to make a snowman - but you're well on your way to a decent imitation in the kitchen, considering the amount of powdered sugar you were spreading around. Luda Mae had just finished getting dinner all put together and in the oven, so you'd sent her to sit with the older men in the living room while you worked on dessert. You'd started with the puppy chow because it was supposed to be easiest, but apparently you weren't to be trusted with powdery substances. 

You're glancing down at your white-covered clothes (what is this devilry? It's all over your hands, too, but you'd been careful not to touch anything, you thought) as the door swings open and a rush of cold air sweeps into the room. Thomas enters, holding a bundle of logs for the fire. 

When he looks up, he takes in your messy appearance with raised eyebrows. 

"Yes, I know, I look like a bag of flour exploded," you laugh. He hesitates for a moment, then proceeds into the living room with the logs before returning quickly and removing his coat. "I hope you're here to help, because it looks like I need it."

He crosses to you and lifts a hand to your face, swiping a thumb across your cheek; it comes away coated in sugar, which he licks off.

"It's on my face, too? How did that happen?" You sigh, wiping at the rest of your face with your sleeve. He chuckles quietly and grabs an apron from one of the hooks near the closet. You follow him to grab a new one, since yours has fallen in the line of duty. 

The puppy chow was done, for better or worse, so you get to work on pie filling while Thomas melts the almond bark for the pretzels.

"Here, try this. It's French silk. Better than plain chocolate, don't you think?" You ask, holding a wooden spoon containing the finished mixture up to Thomas. He takes a taste before nodding in approval. 

The pies go in the fridge, and you pull up to the wax-paper-covered pretzel station. 

He's already got quite a few regular ones dipped and sprinkled, so you grab a few of the rods. You coat them in silence for a while, but then a bit of mischief occurs to you. 

"Oh, you've got something there," you say, feigning innocence, and when he leans down into your reach you quickly streak some almond bark over his forehead. He recoils a bit initially, but then he gives you a pointed look and dips a finger in the melted confection. You try to dart away, but he's fast - he grabs you by the arm and pulls you in close, smearing a decent amount of the stuff across your face while you laugh and squirm. He kisses you tenderly on the forehead before he releases you. 

Once the desserts are finished and the mess is cleaned up (including yourselves; you could tell Luda Mae was considering a reprimand when saw the two of you), you pull Thomas off to the side and hand him a wrapped package with a large ribbon. His eyes soften as he looks at it; he pulls you in for another light kiss before pulling a small gift out of his pocket and placing it in your palm.

"Same time?" You ask, beaming - when he nods, you each start tearing into wrapping paper. 

He gets his opened first, and you pause to watch him as he unfolds the giant knitted sweater - you'd been working on it for a long time, and some of it had required Luda Mae's help, but you were very proud of it. You watch him move his eyes across it, taking in the pattern and colors, and then he runs one hand over it reverently. 

He jumps to his feet and starts pulling it over his head, gesturing to you to keep going. Smiling, you return to your own present: lifting the lid off the small box, you find a delicate rose gold heart with beaded accents, mounted on a pin. You gasp softly, tracing a finger gently along its edge. Thomas was better at metalworking than woodworking, but it still wasn't his strongest suit, and this was so _pretty_. It must have taken him quite a while. 

You look up to find him watching your expression anxiously. 

"I love it, thank you!" You exclaim, smiling wide, and then throw yourself into his arms. He squeezes you firmly against him and presses a kiss to your temple.

"Same," he mutters, quietly, in your ear.


	12. Christmas special - Vincent Sinclair

You nearly spray your mouthful of cider across the whole table as Lester reads out "telling Heather she can't pull off that top" as the answer to "that's bullshit! They can't fire me for ____!"

Cards Against Humanity had turned out to be a _great_ idea, who knew these boys were so funny? Well, honestly, _you_ did - but rarely did it get the chance to make such a strong showing.

You watch them as the next card is read - Lester barely gets though it, halting more than once to suppress giggles, eyes shining with restrained mirth; Bo slaps a hand on the table, doubling over, barking out a loud, hearty laugh; and Vincent... your eyes soften with affection as they settle on him. 

He's maskless, one hand resting on on his chest, head thrown back in mostly-silent guffaws, save for a few rasps and squeaks. His smile always makes you feel like you're melting, and you don't see it often enough by half. He became flushed so easily, with his paler complexion, and the glowing bloom across his face never fails to put butterflies in your stomach. He, in particular, hardly ever got the opportunity to showcase his wit - you'd have to remember this game for the next gathering. 

It's late; after giving gifts earlier in the day and having a big dinner, you'd all retired to the living room to drink and play games. By this point, you're all well on your way to drunk, and it quickly becomes time to turn in. 

Bo shuffles off to his room, muttering a good night, and Lester has already passed out on the couch. You return from the bathroom and go looking for Vincent, intending to drag him back to his bed, only to find him laying out blankets and pillows underneath the light-ringed tree. He sees you as he lays down, and reaches for you - you smile and lunge forward, practically diving on top of him. He wraps you tightly in his arms, throwing a blanket over you, and you waste no time snuggling up close to him. You trade soft kisses, bathed in the scent of pine, until you drift off. 

The next morning, you wake up alone under the blinking, colorful bulbs. You can hear snoring from the direction of the couch; clearly Lester isn't up yet. You rise quietly and pad into the kitchen; Vincent is making pancakes, wearing nothing but his sweatpants. When he sees you, he lifts the spatula in greeting and smiles gently. You grin back and cross the room, wrapping your arms around his middle and pressing against his back.

You're surprised when the food is done and no one else has joined you yet, but you're not complaining. You settle down to a quiet, calm breakfast with the man you love. 

At least, it _would_ have been quiet and calm, if you hadn't tripped on your way to bring over the syrup. You stumble, almost drop the open container, and instead spill a decent amount of the sticky substance across his bare chest. 

"Oh, shit, sorry - " you start, and then before you can think you're leaning down, using your tongue to collect a fast-traveling drop. 

When you realize what you're doing, you send a startled look his way, only to find that familiar flush spreading rapidly across his face. 

Well... maybe it's a very good thing no one else is awake yet.


	13. Christmas special - Jesse Cromeans

You breathe in deeply; the air enters your lungs with the crisp bite of winter chill. It's a lovely night, made even more so by the white lights twinkling overhead, complementing the moonlight perfectly, the Christmas music wafting softly on the breeze, and - best of all - the quality of your current company. 

Your fingers are laced with Jesse's across the table. When you give them a firm squeeze, he stops scanning the crowd and looks up to you.

"Sure you don't want to go skating?" You murmur affectionately. He snorts, gently pulling his hand away from yours. 

_**No way in hell,**_ he signs, _**would I manage to stay upright on those things. You want me to twist an ankle?**_

You laugh, then turn your eyes to the rink. About a dozen people are circling on the ice - looks like all couples, all smiling and rosy-cheeked from the exercise and the chill. 

You sigh, perhaps a little wistfully - and unbeknownst to you, Jesse follows your gaze and his heart sinks.

If you _truly_ wanted to skate, he would join you, of course - but that was an offhand suggestion and he knew it. So what was making you so forlorn? 

His fingers brush absentmindedly across the edge of his mask as he watches the couples skate - focusing, one at a time, on the other men. 

They all looked so... normal, which isn't usually high praise, but - he avoids his reflection out of habit, wears a mask almost constantly, and it still doesn't matter; the vivid image of his own mangled face is always waiting and ready to make an appearance in his mind's eye. It ambushes him now, making him feel insecure in a way nothing else ever does. 

Maybe you were wishing for a more normal boyfriend - to go out in public without clinging to the shadows, without having to come up with explanations or field weird looks because of his mask - to be able to touch his face, see his expressions, look at him without feeling repulsed - 

"Jess? You okay?" You ask softly. He snaps out of his mental spiral, turning back to meet your concerned gaze. 

_**Sorry - did you say something?**_ He signs, deliberately avoiding your question. Your frown deepens for a moment, but then you smile gently. 

"I asked if you were ready to go home - all these people are making me jealous. I don't like to share you, even a little."

And just like that, a surge of warmth rushes into the hollow of his chest, breaking against his ribs and granting relief and buoyancy to his plummeting heart. 

He stares at you for long enough that worry creeps back into your features. For once in his life, he doesn't know what to say - so he stands instead, and holds a hand out to you, nodding. When you take it, he pulls you into an all-engulfing hug (and maybe squeezes just a little too tight, but you're not going to complain).

You laugh, and he pulls away just enough for you to see his hands.

_**Be careful; I'll start to think you love me or something.** _

At this, you grab him by the lapels and yank him back to you, pulling him down enough to plant a delicate, affectionate kiss on the cold surface of his mask. 

"If that's not enough of an answer, I'd love to repeat the action several more times behind closed doors - with this thing out of the way," you say, tapping lightly on the metal skull.

He all but scoops you up in his eagerness to get to the car.


	14. Christmas special - ChromeSpann

Spann is working - something involving forms and lots of open tabs - when her phone buzzes from its dock on her desk. She glances up reflexively, but she already knows who it is - her phone is kept on silent, and only one person is on the exception list. The message notification flashes across her screen, and it's short enough to see the whole thing in the preview.

**Meet me downstairs.**

She sighs as she hears her front door open and close - not because he's managed, once _again_ , to enter her locked home with little effort (and no warning), but because his interruptions always caused a _hemorrhage_ in productivity. Still - he's the boss. She rises from her chair and heads downstairs.

When she enters her living room, Jesse is standing beside the sparsely-decorated artificial Christmas tree and pouring himself a scotch, wearing his customary mask and... a santa hat. Spann smiles, tension melting away as she realizes he must not be in a sour mood, must not be here to deliver bad or frustrating news. Maybe this is even a social call? She doesn't get her hopes up, but it would be nice.

He holds the glass with one hand and beckons her closer with the other, then reaches into his pocket. She approaches, distantly aware that he could be pulling out a knife to kill her with - and she'd just walked right up to him, a lamb going happily to slaughter - but despite knowing what he does, she trusts him. He wouldn't kill her, and even if he did - well... she wouldn't hold it against him. He knows what's best.

What he retrieves, however, is a small box with a bow on it. He holds it out to her, and she takes in with a mixture of eagerness and apprehension.

"Oh - you didn't need to get me anything, sir," she says, surprised, but pleased all the same.

**_You deserve something for all your hard work,_** he signs after setting down his drink. Spann smiles again and waits, watching him, but he only busies himself with removing his mask and taking a sip of his scotch. She must be allowed to open it, then.

She takes a moment to examine the package - it looks like one of those white boxes jewelry often comes in, and it's rectangular and decently sized. A necklace, maybe? That would be awfully kind of him, and awfully... romantic. Again, she doesn't get her hopes up.

The small red bow is stuck to the top, not tied around the box, so she's able to tug the lid right off, and inside... it appears to be a coupon book, but not like a child would make. It looks professionally designed, printed and bound, using high grade paper and a reflective, flowing gold font.

She begins flipping through it, finding things like _free lunch (including delivery)_ , _spa day_ , and _one day without interruptions_ (how was he planning to pull that off?) - and then, toward the end: _hug from Jesse_.

She feels her face heat up, mental gears turning furiously, amazed by the offer. She wonders whether it would be tasteless to turn this one in right away. She looks up at him through her eyelashes; he's watching her out of the corner of his eye, smirking into his glass.

He smoothly holds out a hand, palm up, and she blushes deeper but complies, heart hammering - she tears out the hug coupon (it’s expertly perforated) and places it in his outstretched hand.

When she starts to pull away, his fingers snap closed around her wrist - and then he's yanking, and she stumbles into his arms, suddenly enveloped by his large frame.

She's tense for a second, nervous despite the realization of a long-held dream, but soon she sinks into his embrace, burying her nose in his soft sweater. He smells so good, intoxicating, and he's warm and solid - her eyelids flutter closed, basking in the sensation of his chest rising and falling slowly, the strong beating of his heart, the feeling of his hand on the back of her head.

Then he pulls back a bit, and she _grieves_ \- but he raises her hand between them, taps on the booklet. Quizzically, she opens it back up to where she left off; the next page reads _kiss from Jesse_.

Now she thinks she must be dreaming; her hand flies to her mouth, and she looks up at him helplessly.

"Sir," she squeaks, but she's at a loss for what to say next - then he makes a page-turning motion with his hand, and she obediently flips to the final coupon.

If the jump from a hug to a kiss was enough to make her dizzy, then this was almost enough to make her faint. The words on the slip of paper were numerous, descriptive, and _explicit_. Her face had never felt so hot, and her mind was reeling with disbelief. She felt the strong urge to laugh, but settled instead on the usual.

" _Sir_ ," she scolds, half stern and half flustered.

Jesse bursts into silent, uproarious laughter. Spann tries to decide what to do with her hands and her expression while she waits for him to finish.

**_I'm ready for that one whenever you are,_** he signs, then winks.

(Spann considers redeeming it on the spot.)


	15. Christmas special - Thomas Hewitt (mistletoe)

The rest of the family is still in the kitchen following Christmas dinner when Thomas draws you away and out the back door, leading you down the yard, toward the barn. Once you round the side of it, you find a quilt laid out over the grass. You squeeze his hand and smile up at him.

“Aww, what’s this for?”

He points upward - you lift your gaze to the thick blanket of stars overhead.

“Stargazing? Good idea - it’s chilly out here, though, so you’ll have to keep me warm,” you wink as he fidgets bashfully, and then you draw him down with you onto the quilt.

He pulls you close, guarding you valiantly against the cold, and you start to point out constellations. If you find one with an associated story that you can recall, you tell him that as well. You start with Orion, and you talk about the great hunter – then you point out Scorpio, and continue his story to its well-deserved end.

“I always thought he was an idiot - look, there’s the Pleiades,” you point out the group of seven sisters, “he chased them around so much, they had to flee into the sky to get away from him. But Artemis straightened him out, I suppose,” you finish with a smile.

Thomas runs his fingers lightly across your face and over your head as you continue your guided tour through the stars.

You cover Perseus and Andromeda - then go off on a bit of a tangent regarding Medusa, because it’s the least she deserves. Thomas chuckles a bit over your passion.

You continue to Sagittarius, then Virgo, spending some time on both stories associated with it - Persephone and Astraea. When you get to Lyra, he seems to particularly enjoy the tale of Orpheus and Eurydice… at first. If you’d known how invested he’d become, you wouldn’t have started - it stings, delivering that tragic ending.

He’s somber after that, lost in thought, even as you nuzzle into his neck.

“You okay?” You ask, shifting until you’re lying on top of him, crossing your arms over his chest and resting your chin on them. He looks at you for what feels like a long time before he nods, reaching out to trace patterns across your face. You smile and lean into his touch.

The chill is starting to get to you, and Thomas seems too lost in thought to enjoy more stories, so you rise, help him gather the blanket, and head back toward the house. As you enter the back door, you remember something - glancing around quickly to make sure no one is around, you bring Thomas to a halt. When he looks at you questioningly, you point above your heads.

He looks up to find some mistletoe stuck to the doorframe, and then back down to find you crooking a finger at him with a mischievous grin on your face. He only flusters briefly before removing his mask and leaning toward you. As your lips meet, he finds himself hoping he never has to collect _you_ from the underworld, like Orpheus - because he’s not sure _he’d_ be able to avoid looking back, either.


	16. Playtime (Bo Sinclair) NSFW

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW

Bo groans right into your ear, rough and low, as you clench hard around him.

“That’s it, darlin’,” he purrs, almost breathless, “let me feel how much you want me.”

You push back against him, arching your back as much as possible with his fingers wrapped tightly around your jaw. His teeth graze your ear, then the side of your neck; he applies a bit more pressure here, and when his mouth closes on you suddenly, you _jolt_ \- expecting a bite, but receiving a scorching kiss instead.

He sucks at your pulse as he leisurely rolls his hips, and the tremulous whine that rises from your lungs is all it takes to up the ante - he bucks, once, twice, again, and _again_ , and drops his hand from your jaw to your throat as his new, brutal pace continues. Soon he’s bathing the nape of your neck in panting, growling breaths, and you want to moan but his grip is suffocating - and then he stops moving, lets go, and the sudden rush of air has you seeing stars even as the abrupt halt almost brings you to tears.

As the cycle starts over again, you muse distantly: it’s too bad no one ever taught him not to play with his food.


	17. Good Behavior (Bo Sinclair) NSFW

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW

He groans when you dig your fingers into his shoulders, gripping your thighs firmly and bucking hard, sending you jolting forward - causing you to squeeze harder, until you feel his skin give under the bite of your nails. Red blooms slowly in the crescent-shaped marks before dripping onto the sheets. He huffs, bites back a moan, looks up at you with hazy eyes and a dark flush.

“Look at you, such a mess…” you tease, smirking down at his disheveled appearance. “I know it feels good, but I _did_ ask you to stay still. If you can’t be good, you don’t get to have any fun.”

You sit, unmoving, and watch the defiance and lust warring in his eyes. Finally he hisses out a sigh, eyes fluttering closed.

“Fine, I - just - I’ll behave, all right? Just -”

You feel him tense, fighting not to squirm as you slide your palms up his chest, cutting off his desperate sputtering. Something akin to a whimper falls quietly from his mouth when you wrap both hands lightly around his throat, pressing your thumbs into his skin just enough to feel the pounding of his pulse.

“Keep your hands there,” you remind him sternly, and his fingers dig into your thighs like he’s holding on for dear life. He swallows hard beneath your palms.

He’s panting almost immediately as you start riding him, fast and rough, tightening your grip on his throat at intervals. He falls apart so beautifully - gasping, moaning, even the occasional _whine._ It doesn’t take long before he goes off with a shout, broad hands squeezing you so hard you _know_ you’ll have bruises in the morning.

“There now,” you breathe, “that’s worth behaving for, isn’t it? Well done, baby.”

You lean down to kiss him deeply, hands shifting to cup his face; he melts into you, and you _revel_ in the taste of surrender on his tongue.


	18. Eat You Up (Vincent Sinclair) NSFW

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW

“Oh, _honey_ , you’re so pretty when you blush like that,” you groan breathlessly, bouncing in his lap. He huffs, dipping his face forward, trying to hide it in the curtain of his hair - you slow your pace to a leisurely crawl and catch his chin, bringing him back up into an ardent kiss. He moans weakly when your tongue slides into his mouth.

His hands slide from your hips, over your sides, and up your back as you continue to kiss him while rolling your hips rhythmically. He gasps when you nip at his bottom lip, fingers flexing against your skin. You grin, smug and predatory,

“You like that, huh?” You purr, dragging your teeth along his jaw. He shudders, breathing faster. “Lie back and grab the headboard for me, sweetheart.”

He obeys immediately, and you tighten around him at the sight - god, he’s always so _good_.

You lean down to put your teeth at his throat, scraping over his pulse before planting a scorching kiss there. You trail them up the side of his face until you can nip his earlobe - he jolts, but his hands stay where they are.

“I’ll eat you up, I love you so,” you whisper against his ear, then dart back to his neck, sinking your teeth into the muscle there. He gasps again, body tensing. You pull back, meet his hazy eye, then lean your forehead against his. “Still good?”

He blinks slowly, nods, tilts his chin up to ask for a kiss. You smile warmly and oblige, kissing him breathless again before pulling back and looking him over, planning where to taste him next. Your smile turns devilish as you get off of him - he breathes out a whine in protest - and kneel at the end of the bed.

You plant your hands on his knees for extra control, then lean down to trail a few light kisses along his inner thigh, finally stopping to suck a mark into his skin. You can feel him struggling not to move.

“You’re doing so well, baby,” you purr, moving to his other leg. Another soft kiss, and then a sudden, firm bite - he moans roughly from the head of the bed. You sit back up to look at him, drinking in how completely _wrecked_ he looks.

As much as you’d like to keep playing, he’s been _so_ good, and you’re a softy at heart. You return to straddling him (he sighs deeply as you sink back down), ready to find out if you can make him come in less than 30 seconds.


	19. Jacuzzi (Jesse Cromeans) NSFW

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW

You hadn’t been planning to join him - he’s a stranger in a _skull mask_ for heaven’s sake - but god _damn_ if he didn’t look like some kind of carnal deity, existing only to tempt you.

He was relaxing in the bubbling water, head thrown back, beads of liquid clinging to his skin, caressed by lazily-drifting steam. Enough of his torso rose above the waterline to give you an eyeful of the plentiful, firm muscle of his arms, shoulders, and chest, and even - was that a glimpse of a tattoo?

With a view like that, you would have been surprised _not_ to end up here - in the water, in his lap, full of him.

You squirm, bare chest pressed against his by the large hand splayed across your back.

**Too much for you, babe?**

The words tease from his phone’s screen, as he holds it in front of you.

“Not yet,” you fire back with a grin, “but show me what you can do and we’ll see.”

It’s a challenge that he rises to like a champ.

His giant hands close on your hips as he proceeds to effortlessly move you up and down his length, changing the angle and speed seemingly on a whim. It’s maddening and _delicious_.

“I could kiss you if you’d take that off,” you pant eventually, nodding toward his mask. He shakes his head, taps the side of his neck. You oblige, leaning forward to kiss, suck, and nibble your way down his neck and shoulders as you get closer and closer to your end… and about time, too - it sounds like your coworkers are headed this way.


	20. Getaway (Poly!ChromeSpann) NSFW

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW

Jesse had decided he was sick of responsibilities (his, Spann’s, _and_ yours) interrupting the unlimited playtime he felt he deserved, so he’d flown the three of you to a snowy cabin in the mountains. The fireplace is crackling away as you bake, Spann reads, and Jesse naps on the sofa (it’s not long enough; his feet stick out over the armrest).

You’ve just put a pie in the oven when you feel an arm wrap around your waist from behind, followed quickly by teeth sinking into your neck. You startle, letting out a little squeak, before a second hand closes over your mouth.

“Shhhh - don’t want to wake him, do you?” Comes the teasing whisper at your ear, and then she bites again, a bit more gently, as her hands begin to wander.

“What brought this on?” You ask quietly, melting into her touch, “you’ve been reading those trashy vampire novels again, haven’t you?”

She gasps lightly in mock-offense and pinches your side.

“I think you mean _classy_ vampire novels,” she laughs, whirling you around to face her before pressing her lips to yours in a kiss that grows more heated by the second.

You end up on the floor in front of the fireplace, naked, with her fingers inside you while she kisses you breathless. Her digits move in slow, rhythmic thrusts; she swallows all your stifled sounds hungrily until, finally, you mewl a bit too noisily.

You both turn your heads abruptly to the sound of fingers snapping.

 _ **Having fun without me?**_ Jesse signs, rising from the couch. _**The**_ **audacity** _ **.**_

Spann disentangles from you and backs away a bit. You both watch Jesse undress quickly, until he joins you on the floor, kneeling over you.

 **I see some bite marks popping up,** he signs, taking in your disheveled state. **She’s been reading those books again, huh?**

Spann wraps her arms around his chest from behind, but not before giving him a little bite on the earlobe. You hear his breath stutter in a laugh.

**Hey, I wasn’t complaining.**

He grabs your thighs, pushing them apart so he can move in between, draping them over his hips.

**You’re a mess, babe. Let’s deal with you first, and then Spann gets her reward for getting you all nice and ready for me.**

With that, he slides inside you slowly, easily, as Spann watches over his shoulder.

Thankfully, you’re pretty certain he’ll have you shaking apart before the pie needs to come out of the oven.


	21. Laundry Day (Michael Myers) NSFW

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW

You hadn’t even known he was home, and suddenly his hands are on you - grabbing your hip, snatching your wrist away before you can pour the detergent into the washer, fisting in your hair, swarming under your clothes -

You try to pull your arm free only for him to grab the other, pinning both your wrists in one terrifyingly strong hand.

“Wait - Michael -” you start, desperately, but you might as well be talking to a brick wall for all the good it does you. He lets you struggle, though; you squirm, pull against him, even thrash wildly, all to no avail. He holds you firmly, easily, under his control - and the whole time, you feel him growing harder and harder against your back.

Finally, he’s had enough. He manhandles you, tearing at your clothes until you’re mostly bare, and spins you around to face him. As you stare up at his towering form, you decide you no longer care about the laundry.

He releases your wrists and you jump on him - legs wrapping around his hips and arms wrapping around his shoulders - and his hands immediately scoop under your thighs, hoisting you up onto the washer.

Soon, your face is buried in his neck as he sinks inside you with one rough thrust. His fingers dig into your skin as he sets a hard, fast pace - one of your hands leaves his shoulders to fly back and brace against the washer, which is starting to rock against the floor as if carrying an unbalanced load.

You’re being far too loud, and you know it, but every attempt on your part to stifle the sounds is met with forceful denial on his part; try to cover your mouth, he wrenches your hand away - try to clench your teeth and hold back, he bites, or scratches, or bruises. By the time you come, you’re screaming his name loud enough to wake the neighbors.

As usual, once he’s finished, he quickly melts back into the night - leaving you with yet another mess to clean up.


	22. Take Care of You (Bo Sinclair) NSFW

You’re panting, biting back a moan, getting so _close_ \- and then the door swings open. You startle, pulling your hands away from yourself, but he’s so _fast_ -

He’s crossed the room, grabbed your wrist, and pushed you down into the mattress before you can react. He growls next to your ear, an animalistic sound that makes you _throb_.

“Not tryin’ to make me feel left out, are ya, sugar?” He chuckles darkly. You have to swallow hard and take a deep breath before you can respond, and even then, your voice comes out no stronger than a sigh.

“I - no, but - I didn’t think you were home.”

“Well, don’t worry, darlin’,” he purrs, as his hand slides over your stomach and lower, _lower_ , “I’m here now, and I’ll take care of you.”

You gasp as his fingers take up residence where yours had been, sliding inside you smoothly. He immediately starts to pump them in and out, overwhelming you a little bit with the stretch - his fingers are bigger than yours - and quickly working you back up to panting.

“Missed me, huh? Thinkin’ about me, here all alone?” He sounds just as breathless already, as he stares down at you with half-lidded eyes and a smug smile. “Fuck, you feel _good_.”

The praise makes you whine, but despite his assertion, he pulls his fingers back out of you - choosing instead to focus on stroking you in a _lovely_ rhythm.

Your veins flood with fire, making your back arch and your fingers twitch and tangle in the sheets. Finally, at the sound of a deep, rough growl from above you, the tightly-coiled spring in your abdomen _snaps_. As you cry out, Bo uses his other hand to grip your jaw and trap you in a brutal kiss.

He gives you about ten seconds of afterglow before he starts to unbuckle his belt, grinning like a wolf.

“My turn, sugar.”


	23. Sketches (Thomas Hewitt)

He’d often seen you slaving away over your sketchbook, but the way you always kept it tilted away made him think you didn’t want to share it. It didn’t bother him; everyone had things they’d rather keep private, and he never wanted you to feel uncomfortable. 

For someone who didn’t want their work seen, however, you sure hung around a lot while you were at it. He also seemed to catch you glancing up at him frequently. 

He was curious, for sure, and it took all of his willpower to avoid leafing through your sketchbook on the rare occasion you left it lying around. 

Such as today.

He stares anxiously at the spiral-bound book, then looks up and scans the room. Nope, you’re definitely not here. _Dammit_.

He flexes his hands, takes a step - then shakes his head and resolutely turns around, marches over to his workbench, and sits down. He works, for a while, with a stalwart expression, until the curiosity creeps back up on him. 

Do you doubt your talents? Is that why you won’t show him your art? You usually share everything with him, and he loves that about you. If you’re struggling with your confidence, he wants to help!

… he knows it’s an excuse, even if the sentiment is true, but he _needs_ to know what you’ve got in there. When he finally looks inside to find sketch after sketch of _him_ , he’s beyond shocked.

When you reenter the room, he’s sitting down with your sketchbook open on his lap and one hand over his mouth. You produce a startled, sputtering noise, already beginning to blush - he looks up and quickly snaps the book closed, eyes wide, grabbing his notebook and scrawling quickly:

**Sorry!**

then:

**Curious.**

You cross your arms, unsure if you’re more embarrassed or angry. 

“It’s not nice to touch my things without asking,” you start, and his remorseful expression following your statement is so pronounced that you cool off as quickly as hot metal dunked in water barrel.

 **Knew I shouldn’t have** , he writes, **I’m sorry.**

“You’re right, you shouldn’t have, but I forgive you,” you say, moving forward to give him a hug, “I’m just shy about my drawings, I guess.”

He pulls you into his lap and sets the notebook on your legs so he can write. 

**Why? They’re beautiful. You** \- he pauses, fidgets with the pen in his hands. Smiling, you give him a soft kiss on the forehead to encourage him to continue. **You made _me_ beautiful.**

You gently pull away the hand that lifted, absentmindedly, to run across his own face, holding it against your chest instead.

“Well, that’s easy,” you say, “with such a handsome subject.”

You’re not sure what’s more endearing - the flush that creeps over his face, or the moisture that starts to collect in his eyes.


	24. Flirting (Jesse Cromeans)

You’d been his tattoo artist for quite a while, and you’ve been into him practically that entire time. You never pushed anything, though, not wanting to lose a good customer - he commissioned great work, paid top dollar, _and_ you enjoyed his company. You _were_ curious about what had happened to his face, but you’d gotten used to it by now.

Today, you’ve opened up the shop just for him (he seemed to keep unusual hours, but since you did too, it worked out), so you could complete the next portion of the sleeve you’d been working on for a while. You lock the door behind him when he arrives, and lead him to his usual chair.

 _ **Good week?**_ He signs. You’re glad you learned ASL during school; it’s been useful a few times, most of all with him. The two of you were able to communicate smoothly while you worked, as long as you weren’t tattooing one of his arms at the time. In this case, you knew, he’d use his phone to talk to you once you got started.

“Oh, pretty good. You?”

 _ **Better, now that I’m looking at you,**_ he signs, _winks_ , and then pulls his sweater over his head to reveal a plain black t-shirt stretched over a broad, well-muscled chest. You suddenly feel lightheaded, but you try to ignore it as you continue prepping your station.

“What, are you flirting with me?” You tease, chuckling, but surprisingly he just quirks an eyebrow.

_**So you finally noticed?** _

There’s a longer pause than you’d care to admit as you cycle through several lightning-quick emotions: confusion, disbelief, embarrassment, excitement, panic. He waves a hand in front of your face as you stand frozen.

 _ **Hello? Are you broken?**_ He asks, smirking. You snap out of it and start stammering instead, which isn’t any better.

“Wh - I - Did -”

His eye takes on a mischievous sparkle and he darts forward, cupping the side of your face and pressing his lips to yours - or, well, what passes for lips, with him. It definitely feels… weird, and you’re still a little in shock, but you melt into him as his thumb brushes gently over your cheekbone.

By the time he pulls away, you feel drunk on him, and the panic has given way to an intense _want_. As if sensing your compromised state, he abruptly pulls his shirt over his head.

Now, you’d seen him shirtless before; you’d done a few tattoos on his chest, back, and shoulders. It was always a magnificent sight, and it definitely made you feel a little warm, but you’re a professional and it wasn’t that big of a deal.

 _This_ , though? After a kiss like that, when you’re alone, and apparently your feelings are being reciprocated and you’re allowed to _touch_?

Heat courses through your veins and you tackle him, hopping into the chair and bracketing his hips with your thighs. His arms go around your waist instantly - you crush your lips against his again, and this time he wastes no time filling your mouth with his tongue. Your hands wander his form as his tug at your clothes, finally breaking the kiss and pulling your shirt over your head. You take advantage of the situation to pull back briefly.

“How long _have_ you been flirting?” You ask, panting. He rolls his eye.

 _ **A long time. Way too long. You’re the most oblivious person I’ve ever met,**_ he signs furiously, _**now keep kissing me, for god’s sake.**_

“Don’t worry,” you smirk, grinding down into his lap, “I wasn’t planning to stop.”


End file.
